House of Secrets (14 page)

Told my mom and then my dad and Eddie Jr. came up and got me.” They drove him to Indiana, dropping him off at an aunt and uncle’s home near Jeffersonville, 20 miles from the Kentucky line. Anne Greene logged hours on the phone with Otis Sexton and his wife Jackie, and miles and more miles on her car. Otis spun one story after another about his younger brother s family. He told her about Ed Sexton’s criminal record, his house fires, his suspicious disability, and the flow of government money into the house. May was on welfare because her husband supposedly couldn’t work. And not only did Pixie and Sherri receive welfare for their children, Sexton’s sons generated income. James and William both had been judged disabled by the Social Security Administration. They each received some $400 a month in Supplemental Security Income. One later estimate put the family’s tax-free income at more than $50,000 during peak years. Willie was his father’s constant companion, Otis said. He stuttered and could hardly read or write. He’d graduated from Jackson High as a special ed student. He was a good mechanic, but couldn’t do other simple things. If he was thirsty, he might easily pay you $50 for a can of pop. Willie painted and did landscaping work for a couple of years, but living at home at 21, was still under his father’s thumb. Eddie barked orders at him incessantly. Machelle also said her father beat Willie frequently, though he was 5-foot-10, pushing 180, his biceps swollen from landscaping work. The description reminded Anne of Lenny in the Steinbeck classic, Of Mice and Men. Ed Sexton also had plenty of outside muscle, Otis said. He dismissed claims that Eddie had made that he knew people in the mafia. But he did believe in the existence of a henchman, a former cellmate he called “The Ice Man.” Anne had heard Machelle talk about the man, how her father would threaten to call him to kill people. Otis said Eddie once offered to contract the thug to kill the wife of his brother Dave. Anne Greene thought, what kind of people am I dealing with here? It didn’t surprise her when she learned Otis was keeping a close eye on Machelle. Machelle complained to Anne that he kept her restricted to the house. Otis told Anne he was worried for her safety. Ed Sexton wasn’t above snuffing one of his own, he said. One night Anne got a call from Otis. Upset with his house rules, Machelle had left his home. She’d moved in with a girl she’d met in a women’s shelter, now living in Brewster, a small town south of Massilon. Then Machelle called Anne. “I had the feeling something was going on that she wouldn’t tell me,” Anne would recall later. “I had the feeling she was going to be involved in drugs, or turning tricks.”

Anne and Gerry sped to Brewster. They called Machelle from a local store. She agreed to meet them there, and came walking up the street a few minutes later. She was wearing tight black shorts and a tank top.

She looked like she hadn’t had a bath in days. “You’ve got to come home,” Anne pleaded. “You’re going to screw up your life here.”

Machelle said, “But I like it here.” A couple of days later, when Anne could no longer reach her by phone, she and Gerry returned to Brewster.

This time local police accompanied them. They arrived at two in the morning, figuring that was the best hour to catch Machelle at home.

Police knocked on the door, then told Machelle, “There’s people here who want to take you home.” The roommate came outside, screaming, “Don’t go with them. They don’t love you.” Now Machelle wanted to go.

Anne and Otis Sexton shared responsibility for Machelle. But Anne also was concerned about her own family’s security. Otis would drive Machelle to a Mcdonald’s in Canton. Anne would pick her up there. She stayed with the Greenes on weekends. They’d chat, paint nails, go to church on Sunday. Anne arranged for Machelle to see a psychotherapist who specialized in abused children. As it turned out, the psychologist, Robin Tener, would also be used by the Family Court to evaluate other Sexton kids. But Anne Green couldn’t shake the feeling that the Sexton family would one day find her. Otis called her one day, saying he’d seen the Ice Man’s car in a store parking lot. Soon, Anne was getting hangup calls at her home. She began noticing dilapidated cars cruising past her house. She’d heard Machelle’s family had several cars. Someone would tell her, A 78 black Grand Prix. An old, two-tone yellow Chevy van. A mid-’80s Ford Custom. But she didn’t know cars. And Machelle had said the family had connections with a chop shop and stolen vehicles. Anne didn’t know if she was just paranoid, or if there was a real Freat By early spring, the new goal was to make sure Machelle graduated from high school. She’d been in four different schools since she’d left home. Now she was completing her studies with Mckinley High School in Canton. Anne had met with an assistant principal, explaining Ed Sexton’s threats. Mckinley allowed her to finish her classes through a correspondence course. Machelle began calling Anne “Mom,” and Gerry Dad. And Machelle wanted to be called by a new name. No longer Machelle, but Shelly. A new name for a new life, she said. Shelly sent Anne a Mother’s Day card with a poem inside, The days ending. The night is near. I live for freedom. I run from fear. I have some love, Some love to give away. Will you be the one to take it from me? And hope for me that someday I will be free. On May 9, the night before Mother’s Day, Anne received another call from Timken Mercy Medical Center. Machelle had been brought there by Canton police, she said. Machelle had given the nurse Anne’s number and name.

Anne and Gerry found her behind curtains in the emergency room, detained on a bed with leather restraints. Machelle was livid. “Take off these straps,” she screamed. Anne began stroking her hair, calming her. She’d run away from Otis’s house, she said. He didn’t allow her to use the phone or visit friends, she complained. She couldn’t go outside, even sit on the porch. He made her do housework. He’d had her apply for general assistance welfare, then cashed her checks. Otis Sexton seemed to have evoked too many reminders of Shelly’s life in the house on Caroline Street. She’d been brought into the hospital after Canton police had stopped to question her on the street, and she’d gone into a rage. Anne talked to an internist. But in minutes, Shelly was calling for her again. “Over there,” she whispered urgently. “That man, over there.” Sitting on a chair in the emergency room was a friend of her father’s, she said. Anne walked over to the reception desk and questioned a nurse. The man had shown up just after the Greenes arrived, claiming he’d hurt his leg. Anne thought, my Lord, we’re being followed. She hustled into a nurse’s office and called the Canton police. Soon she was speaking to a detective. “Maybe you should just leave town for a little while,” he said. She went back to Shelly’s bed and explained. Maybe it was best they not see each other for a little while. She’d keep in touch with Shelly by telephone.

“You can make them let me go,” Shelly said. “You’re my mom. You can make them let me go home.” No, they had to keep her the night for observation. Anne looked at the clock. It was past midnight. “Happy Mother’s Day,” her husband said. Two days later, they left town for two weeks and stayed at her mother’s in Alabama. Her husband wrote a letter to detective Glenn Goe, informing him what happened. Anne kept in touch with Shelly by phone. They returned to Canton in time for Shelly’s graduation ceremony. The break seemed to bolster Anne Greene’s courage. Plus, she missed Shelly. “You’ve got to understand, I loved this girl,” she would later recall. Anne took Shelly to Belden Village Mall to buy her a graduation dress. As they approached an escalator, Machelle froze momentarily. She stared at the moving stainless stairway in awe, then had to ride it up and down several times. “That’s when it really hit me,” Anne would later say. “It would be like me seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time. She’d never seen an escalator before.” They found her a light blue dress. At home, Anne gave her a necklace of her own. Machelle’s eyes brightened like she’d been given the Hope Diamond, though it was only imitation pearl. A few days later, Machelle Lynn Sexton graduated with 300 other Mckinley seniors, but not without some effort. Prior to the ceremony, Otis Sexton called school officials. He was worried about auditorium security. At first they suggested she not attend the ceremony, then agreed to work out a plan.

As graduates marched out of the auditorium, Machelle darted out of the line, removing her cap and gown. Two security guards hustled her out the back door, where Otis waited in an idling car. Anne and Gerry met up with her again at a small reception at one of Otis’s daughters.

There were only a couple of cousins there. No big party like those in Jackson High School, where parents pitched backyard tents so proud graduates could snag cards with cash an party into the night with their friends. There was only a cake inscribed, “Congratulations Machelle.

They took pictures, several with Machelle clinging to Anne’s husband Gerry as if he were the proud parent. Shelly had written him recently, “I always dreamed about having a father like you …” Anne Greene thought, this all is so very sad. The day in late July had been planned this way, Otis Sexton would take Machelle to her late morning appointment with the psychologist, then drop by the North American Indian Culture Center for another meeting. A counselor there named Melton Fletcher had called him. He wanted to interview both he and his niece about May Sexton’s Indian heritage claim. Machelle was upset when she left the appointment with Robin Tener. She wanted her to write down some of her emotions, Shelly later would recall. “I didn’t want to dredge it all up again,” she said. “I was sick of it. I wanted to forget it. And that’s all Uncle Otic ever talked about. As they drove to the Indian center in Akron, Otis Sexton knew what he’d tell the Indian official. He did not believe May had Indian blood, and certainly not Eddie, as he sometimes claimed. Otis knew about his side of the family. The Sextons were English. His mother Lana Toler was from West Virginia. His father William Dewey Sexton was born in Pike County, Kentucky. His grandmother’s maiden name was Reynolds. Both sides were old southern families. Otis had also heard Eddie and May talk about her side of the family. Just a year ago Eddie was bragging that he and May had found May’s real mother. Years ago, when May’s father was stationed in Texas, the family had a Mexican housekeeper.

May said her father had an affair with the housekeeper and that she was really the housekeeper’s daughter. Her father and legal mother had adopted her when she was born. “Eddie and May claimed she was coming up to visit them in Ohio,” Otis would later recall. “But as far as I know she never came. ” When Otis and Shelly arrived at the cultural center, Mel Fletcher wasn’t there. Otis talked for 20 minutes with Clark Hosik, the center’s director. Then Mel Fletcher arrived. He took Otis and Shelly into his office, leaving the door open. “He told us straight out,” Otis later recalled. “He said, ‘My objective is to get this family back together.”

” Otis thought, Eddie and May must have spoon-fed this guy a real bill of goods. Otis heard someone shuffling outside. He turned around and saw May Sexton and her son Patrick sitting in the hall outside. Otis jumped to his feet. We’ve been set up, he thought. Later he found out from Patrick that Fletcher had just been to May’s house. He accused Fletcher of taking sides. “You realize you’re in violation of a court order?” he shouted. Technically, Fletcher was not. But Family Court Judge Julie Edwards later confirmed she had not assigned the staff at the center to assume any sort of counseling role. It was only to research heritage. Counseling was in the hands of the DHS. Otis stormed down to director Hosik’s office to complain. Later, Machelle was crying as they drove away. Otis still was furious. He was yelling about Fletcher. Then he yelled about May, when he found out she’d talked to Shelly in the hall. Machelle Sexton thought he was yelling at her. “It was as if the parents were saying, we-can find you Shelly when we want to,” Otis later would say. “They were sending her a message.” That night, another message apparently was sent. Otis and Jackie were in their bed, Shelly in her upstairs bedroom, when suddenly glass began shattering on the back staircase. The barrage of rocks came through two back windows just below Shelly’s bedroom. Otis ran to the window, but saw no one. The family basset hound, normally a noisy watchdog, hadn’t even barked. “That’s got to be someone we know,” said Otis. The next morning at breakfast, he announced, “That’s it. We’ve got to do something.” He began writing out a leaflet by hand, later taking it up to a local copying machine. He planned on heading to the Family Court building in downtown Canton. Shelly didn’t want to go, but offered to make the picket signs. She printed, “Arrest Child Abusers” on white poster board. It was Tuesday, July 21. Otis called up his sister Nellie. Jackie joined them as well.

Soon all three were waling in a small circle outside the Citizens Building, Otis shoving the leaflets in people s hands. It gave a brief description of the Sexton case and concluded, “What has the law done?

NOTHING.” And, “Join me to help stop abuse.” Dave Knox, a reporter for the Ahron Beacon ffournal, happened to be waleng by the courthouse.

He saw the little demonstration and stopped by to listen to Otis Sexton’s story. Knox faced a considerable reporting obstacle. Family Court proceedings were sealed by the court. His newspaper did not print the names of minors in such cases. Knox called Jackson police and DHS officials for comment. Detective Glenn Goe said his investigation had been turned over to DHS officials because minors were involved. But he had an angle with the Indian claim. His story appeared two days later, headlined, INDIAN

HERITAGE

CLAIM VEXES STARK COURT. It reported the heritage claim by a “Jackson Township” couple facing child abuse charges, but did not include the Sexton name. By the time the story appeared, Otis and Shelly’s relationship was deteriorating quickly. She resented having guards hustle her out of her graduation. That was not normal, she groused.

She didn’t like the idea she had to do dishes. She’d called Jackie a “bitch” a couple of times in recent weeks. Jackie Sexton was hurt by the words. When she first moved in, Machelle didn’t know basic feminine hygiene. She taught her niece how to keep herself clean, how to keep her hair smooth and untangled. Her own daughters took the girl shopping, paying for a new wardrobe. “Machelle,” Otis said. “It’s Shelly,” she snapped back. l I “Shelly, I’ll not have you call my wife that.” I What Otis Sexton didn’t know were the words May Sexton had spoken to her daughter two days earlier in the hallway of the Indian cultural center. “She told me that she missed me and that she loved me,” Shelly would later recall. “God, it was the first time in my life she’d ever said that to me.” That evening, Jackie and Otis finished supper. Shelly hadn’t joined them. Jackie asked her to do the dishes.